


Any Two Men

by yuletide_archivist



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M is angry, Bond has some time to kill, and Villiers is pretty sure the spy has something up his sleeve. That doesn't stop him from accepting an invitation, and making one of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Two Men

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Laekin, my awesome beta who always gives me the best ideas. This was intended to be written from Bond's POV, but it didn't quite end up that way.
> 
> Written for Apathy Jane

 

 

"Bloody cheek!" M's voice exploded, as she rose from her chair and leaned forward, hands planted firmly on the smooth wood of her desk. The blond man seated before her dropped his eyes in silent apology, although his posture maintained its confident, almost arrogant, bearing. "These assignments are not your personal playgrounds. I've never had an agent under my command with such a penchant for pointless destruction."

"Sorry," Bond murmured, and the woman behind the desk had the feeling it was a statement she'd best start getting used to hearing, if she intended to keep the man around. Not that she'd made that decision just yet. He was headstrong and unpredictable and, she was beginning to suspect, possibly a bit unstable.

Which meant he could turn out to be a very good investment, or a very bad one. The trick was figuring out whether it was worth the risk to find out.

"You're on leave until I decide what I want to do with you," she snapped, dropping back into her chair and transferring her attention to stack of neatly labeled files. Bond knew a dismissal when he heard it and, giving his superior a polite nod as he stood, he took himself swiftly out the door, closing it silently behind him.

M indulged in a frustrated sigh once she was alone. "This one's going to be the death of me."

*****

Villiers looked up from his computer screen, phone cradled between jaw and shoulder, as the door opened and closed. For just a second, he thought he saw a fleeting expression of uncertainty in the agent's handsome face, but it was gone before he could be certain, replaced by the typical self-assured posturing the young admin was used to seeing in this particular species of agent. He tried to focus on his work before Bond caught his gaze, but was too late. A devilish smirk curled the corners of the agent's mouth, and Villiers felt the familiar mingling of nervousness and irritation that some of the agents -- and this one especially -- brought out in him.

"Important call," he mouthed at the approaching man, hoping that would put Bond off of whatever favor he was about to try and wrangle, but the blond only perched one hip on the edge of Villiers' desk, looking perfectly willing to wait. With a small frown that he'd unconsciously picked up from the woman in the next room, he finished the conversation as quickly as possible and rang off. Then he waved one hand in some annoyance, indicating that Bond was sitting on a file he needed, and proceeded to attempt to ignore the man.

"It's nearly eight," Bond remarked, in a low voice that suggested more intimacy than the two men had between them, and the tone drew Villiers' eyes upward again before he could stop himself. A twitch of the lips told that the blond agent knew he'd won that round, and before the young admin could do more than mentally curse himself for being so easily played, said, "I've been grounded. Come have a drink with me."

"I can't even imagine how those three ideas fit together, Mr. Bond," Villiers retorted, although he had to admit to a certain curiosity. A curiosity that probably showed in his face, from the pleased look he was getting in return. There really wasn't anything requiring him to work late tonight, and M was probably preparing to head for home herself. His own flat being currently devoid of even a pet fish, let alone human companionship, Villiers supposed that a pint at a nice, not too smoky pub carried a certain appeal. And, if he _had_ to be honest with himself -- something the young admin did generally try to do -- the company wasn't entirely unappealing either. "I have work to finish up," he stated, with a stress on the word 'work' that was meant to tweak the blond agent just a little. You had to remind them now and then that you weren't without teeth of your own, Villiers believed, or they'd run right over you. And he was getting the feeling that this particular agent would run you over and make you thank him for it when he'd gone.

"Perfect. I'll pick you up downstairs in an hour." If there was any hint of reluctance in the dark-haired man's response, Bond was plainly not put off by it. And with the arrogance of a man who knows he's going to get what he wants in the end, he straightened and strolled casually out of the office.

Villiers shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, but then set about the business of putting his work in order for the night.

*****

A drink had turned into dinner instead, but the atmosphere of the little Indian restaurant Bond had chosen was pleasant, and the conversation proved surprisingly interesting. Villiers had been pretty sure, by the time an hour had passed, that Bond was chatting him up, but young admin also had to admit he didn't mind. The man was damned attractive, and Villiers was currently unattached and didn't have much time in his schedule for dating anyway. The offer to drive him home, accepted because it was either that or walk to the tube in the rain and Villiers wasn't about to turn down a ride in a warm car, strengthened his suspicion that the invitation had been simply intended as a lead-in to other activities. Then Villiers was surprising himself -- and possibly the other man as well, although who could tell what was going on behind that mask of stoic smugness? -- by inviting Bond up for the drink they'd originally intended.

He really had intended to make them drinks, too, but that entire line of thinking was cast to the wind when they crossed the threshold and Villiers found himself pressed bodily against the door they'd just closed against the chill weather. One hand flailed a bit as he fumbled to throw the lock, the other exhibiting more sense by moving to cup the back of Bond's head. He was being kissed, quite soundly and thoroughly, and although the sane and analytical part of his mind suggested that there had to be a _reason_ , that men like this didn't just invite a fellow out for dinner and a roll in the hay on a sudden whim, those thoughts were being quickly shoved aside by a pair of strong hands insistently divesting him of his clothing, and a warm mouth that had just discovered that spot on Villiers' neck that made him moan out loud.

The low, rich chuckle answering that moan should have annoyed the young admin, but instead it sent a shiver up his spine, and he found himself molding his body against Bond's. A body wearing far too many clothes, he decided, as soft cotton brushed against his bare chest. Villiers pushed the other man away,fisting his hands in that offending shirt, yanking it from the waistband of tailored gray trousers. He moaned again as his hands found sleek skin over muscle, the sound echoed softly as Bond hooked his fingers in the youngadmin's belt loops and pulled him away from the wall.

A trail of clothing marked the stumbling path the two men took as they made their way through the darkened flat. Bond kicked aside a box of files that had the audacity to get in his way, work that Villiers had brought home and that was now scattered across his living room. He swore under his breath, but the words were captured by Bond's kiss, and the young admin decided it was worth having to sort a couple hundred sheets of paper.

Then they were tumbling onto the bed, Villiers rapping the back of his heel hard against the foot board as they scrambled up toward the pillows. Not an easy task, as the pair seemed unwilling to take their hands off each other, and they nearly went right off the side and onto the floor when Bond rolled them, settling Villiers atop him. A position the younger man was surprised but pleased to find himself in, and he took quick advantage by straddling the agent and applying teeth to an especially appealing-looking spot on Bond's shoulder. It might have been Bond who initiated the evening, but the young admin was not about to let him think he blindly catered to the beck and call of every pair of pretty blue eyes.

Pretty blue eyes that belonged to a man who knew how to keep himself in shape, Villiers had to admit, as he worked his way down the agent's chest. Bond gave a sigh that might have been a soft groan at the very end, and let his head drop back against the mattress, his hands sometimes sliding lightly over Villiers' shoulders and arms as the man continued his explorations. The younger man felt fingers slide into his hair, tightening into a gentle tug of approval as he made his way over the muscled abdomen, pausing to flick his tongue into Bond's navel. Then with a sudden movement, an attempt to catch the agent off-guard if just for one moment, he ducked his head and wrapped his lips around the thick heat of the agent's erection. A hoarse cry wrung itself from Bond's throat, his fingers digging into the flesh of Villiers' shoulder. Then the next moment, Villiers was being dragged upward, an expression of surprise on his face, as he found himself flat on his back with the other man's tongue down his throat.

Not that he had the mental faculty to complain, not when his body was buzzing with arousal, his blood rushing in his ears. One strong hand gripped his thigh, and he arched in response to the weight atop him, wrapping one arm around Bond's shoulders and pressing the other hand against the mattress for leverage as their bodies began rocking against one another. He had no idea how long they stayed like that, arching and moving against one another, but Villiers was panting for breath by the time Bond drew away, urging the younger man onto his stomach and then stretching out over top of him again. The repositioning was no surprise, really, as the young admin dryly reminded himself that MI6 agents of Bond's ilk were not known for their desire to get especially personal, even in the most intimate settings. That moment of insight gave way as quickly as it had come on, however, as Villiers' attention was redirected to the probing of strong fingers, the coolness of lube that startled the young admin until he realized that _of course_ Bond had come prepared, and wasn't it just like him to have the clarity of thought to palm the small tube from his pocket before abandoning his trousers on the living room floor. It was almost enough to draw a sudden and inappropriate laugh from Villiers, except that now the finger was gone and he could feel the older man pressing into him. A muscled arm was wrapped around his chest, the agent's hand tight on the younger man's shoulder, and they hovered tensely on the edge of motion for just a moment until Villiers' body relaxed, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

That seemed to be the cue Bond was waiting for and with a soft grunt he began to thrust. At first the movements lacked a confident rhythm, seeming almost exploratory, which left Villiers startled by the thought that just maybe the agent would turn out to be a rotten shag. Then the head of Bond's manhood bumped his prostate and the young admin gave a needy shout as his previous worries flew right out of his head. In fact, Villiers no longer had a mind for anything more intellectual than shifting a little until he found a position which made their coupling more perfect, and the older man had the nerve to sound pleased with himself as he laughed and began to move in earnest. Villiers might have protested Bond's smugness if he hadn't been busy trying not to smother himself, as he gasped and groaned into the pillow beneath his head.

Bond, it turned out, was a fairly quiet lover, although he seemed to take pleasure in the passionate sounds of the younger man. That lack, if it could be considered so, was made up for in the bruises Villiers would be sporting for a few days, scattered across his shoulders and neck and clustered in a little group on his hip. It was the sharp ache of teeth sinking into his flesh, combined with the dexterous touch of a strong hand between his thighs, that finally sent the young admin careening over the edge, and he came with a buck of his hips and a muffled cry that pulled the blond agent along in his wake.

When they collapsed together, sweaty and shaking, Villiers closed his eyes and told himself not to fall asleep. They needed to get up, wash, maybe have that drink if it wouldn't be too awkward. He needed clean sheets. He needed to ask Bond just want he'd meant by all of this.

He was sure he felt Bond's lips brush the back of his neck, and the arm around him tighten just a little bit, as his body flat-out refused to listen to sense and he drifted off. Maybe just a few minutes wouldn't make a difference anyway....

*****

The sun was creeping in through the window before Villiers woke, grumbling as he realized he was a little sore, a little sticky, and had definitely slept in a wet spot. That he was alone came as no great revelation, however. It would have been more of a shock to find Bond still there than it was to pull himself out of bed and pad naked through the flat to check that the agent had locked the door behind him.

Of course he had. And he'd tidied the spill of files as well, leaving almost no trace of himself in the strangely empty-seeming apartment.

Villiers had a shower and dressed, made tea for his travel thermos, and realized that really, they could have been anyone last night. Any two men meeting for dinner and a shag, and parting ways amicably but emotionless.There'd been no exchange of phone numbers -- hell, they hadn't even called each other by their given names -- and the young admin had no expectation of a follow-up call anyway. Just as he had no intention of mooning over Bond like a lovestruck puppy.

Although he had to admit to wondering just what the man's intentions had been. Was last night just a way for him to regain his confidence after a dressing-down? Or was he hoping for some kind of in with M's assistant, some advantage he could make use of next time he got called on the carpet? Villiers supposed it was possible the agent had simply wanted a diversion to fill a few hours of his down time, a nice tumble with someone he knew well enough to trust. As much as anyone ever really trusted anyone around MI6, at any rate.

The young admin paused by the front door, coat tossed over his arm, and decided that he was all right with any of those scenarios. It would be interesting to see how things played out, and what move Bond made next.

Whenever M decided to repeal his punishment and put him back in the field, of course.

*****

"She wants you in her office," Villiers stated, his tone crisp and professional. As was his habit, he held the phone propped in the crook of his neck, the muted clicking of his keyboard transmitting across the line.

 _"Does she?"_ came the suggestive reply, in a voice that managed to make the hair stand up on the back of his neck in a very pleasant way. _Damn him_ , the young admin thought, realizing that there would probably never come a day when James Bond didn't expect to be catered to by him. _Well, at least it will keep things interesting._

"Yes, she does. At once."

He set the phone in its cradle before the agent could respond, and looked up to see M standing in the doorway of her office, her face as unreadable as always. She gave no indication that she knew what had passed between the two men, but Villiers wasn't fool enough to think he had any secrets. "He's on his way, mum."

"Good," M replied, pursing her lips thoughtfully, and gazing out the window over the young admin's shoulder. "Book him a flight to Prague. We're either about to promote an exceptional agent, or make the biggest mistake in the history of MI6."

_FIN_

 


End file.
